by Karen Myers
She hadn’t expected him to come, Ives saw. It was time for that to change. “Wouldn’t miss it,” he said, gladdened by her smile in response.
“You go on in,” he told her. “I’ll wait for George. We can handle the hounds.”
George was roused from a dreamless nap by the twitching of his lumpy blanket. As he opened his eyes, puzzled, he realized he was deep in a nest of warm hounds. Several of them lifted their heads as he woke and he grinned to see all the eyes staring into his at eye level. Or even higher, as he realized they were on the steps both above and below him. Golden eyes, amber eyes, honey, and chocolate.
He raised his gaze further to Ives. “Sorry, I do seem to keep dropping off this way. I expect that will pass, eventually.”
Ives waved it off with a smile. “Made the hounds happy, not that that takes much.”
George shooed the comfortable hounds off and cleared enough space to stand up. “Let’s take them back,” he said.
He kept the hounds packed up behind him as he made his slow steady way back to the kennel gates. They obeyed him without demurral.
Inside the kennel courtyard, he sat down on a stone bench. As Ives came up to start putting hounds away, he waved him off. “Just open the dog hounds’ gate,” he said. Ives sent Tanguy over to do so.
One by one George called each dog hound out of the pack around him, looked him over, and made much of him. Then he sent him over to Tanguy at the gate to his pen, bespeaking him individually and getting instant obedience, even from the normally unruly hounds such as Cythraul. Dando, when it was his turn, rose up to look into his face for a moment, then dropped and licked his healed knee before joining his pack mates in the dog hound pen.
George went through the bitch hounds in the same way, looking over each hound in her turn. He commented to Ives, “We’ll have to think about breeding them soon. I’ll start working on that.”
Eventually only the young hounds were left, not quite full pack members and housed in their own pens on the other side of the courtyard. George gave each of them his individual attention, and they squirmed with delight.
As he dismissed the last one he looked down at his kennel coat in dismay. “Guess I’ll need another bath,” he said. “Not the cleanest of blankets, those hounds.”
“But they warm you, inside and out,” Ives said, and George laughed in agreement. Forty souls, happy to see him. Well worth a little dirt. And fleas.
“Angharad said you wanted to see me?” George said, standing at Ceridwen’s door in the early afternoon. He was pleased with himself for having completed the brief walk down the lane without needing to use the cane he was carrying.
“Yes, huntsman. Come in.”
She brought him into her library study and joined him as he took his customary seat in the comfortable chairs facing the fire. “I have something for you,” she said.
She reached into a pocket of her skirt and pulled out a small object that would fit inside a closed fist, especially in a large hand like his. She held it for a moment. “Someone like me collects a great many objects over a lifetime, many of them by accident, much the way this library collects books. They find their way to me, strangers hand them over, they appear in the road before me. This one fell from the sky, in another land. Someday I’ll tell you the story.”
This was an odd mood for her, he thought. She was usually more… brisk.
“Mostly they come to stay and live here quietly,” she said. “But once in a while they call for my attention and remind me that they have other places to be.”
She glanced down at the object in her hand. “This one came to my mind yesterday.” She gave it to George.
He examined it. It was an old carving, smooth and worn. It looked like bone. It was roughly cylindrical, and symmetrical, two identical ends and a small central shaft between them. He held it up to his nose and smelled old bone and eastern spices he couldn’t identify. It felt indestructible, despite the material, and very old. It fit his hand perfectly, no wider than his palm.
“What is it?” he asked.
“It’s in the form of a thunderbolt, in the eastern style, but I don’t think the shape matters. What it contains within is… not visible to me.”
She tilted her head. “I don’t know if this is a gift from Taranis or a stray thought in my own mind, or just an odd paperweight, but it seemed to me that this belonged to you now. I’ve learned to heed such impulses, even if I don’t understand them. Perhaps especially so, in that case.”
“What should I do with it? What’s it for?”
“I have no idea. Tie a cord to it and hang it on your tree, if you wish,” she said. “But it’s yours now. Don’t lose it, it’s very old.”
He could feel nothing within, no hint of the presence Ceridwen suggested. “Is it dangerous?”
“I don’t know. It’s not hostile, I’m sure of that much. Treat it with respect and pass it along to your heir, if you never figure it out.”
He put it carefully into an inner chest pocket in his coat. What would he tell Angharad, that Ceridwen just gave him a thunderbolt? This place was a constant surprise.
“I had a question for you,” he said.
She waited for him, attentively.
“I think I know what we can trade to Seething Magma for help with the ways. I talked to her about it before she left.” He looked at Ceridwen. “You’ll like this. She wants books.”
Ceridwen laughed.
“Not just any books, mind you,” he said, “but books about geology, the history of the planet. Apparently, they may be very long-lived indeed, but not quite on a geologic time scale, and they have theories that need data. We talked about it late one night, when she caught a stray thought of mine.”
“Those would be human books, you’re suggesting?”
“Unless the fae have a history of studying geology,” he said.
Ceridwen shook her head. “Our technical scholars concentrate on magic more than science, though there are works of engineering. We designed our larger buildings after human exemplars, your Romans and some others.”
“And this is my question,” George said. “I’m afraid of introducing knowledge where it hasn’t been… earned. For example, let’s pretend that what the rock-wights learn lets them, oh, produce gold and silver on demand. Those who earn their living from mining, like the korrigans, would find their prices reduced, and disruption would follow. Just an example.”
He frowned. “I know this is the wrong attitude, that no one can control knowledge. Our experience in economics tells us that it’s a dangerous illusion to think you can, that it invariably causes harm. There’s no way to know what the impacts will be. And it’s wrong to try and control it, I believe that. Who am I to dictate what people can and can’t learn, even if I could.”
Ceridwen said, “But you don’t want, you yourself, to be the agent of change, is that it?”
“I suppose so. I guess that makes me squeamish rather than principled.”
“Yes, it does. You can’t bury knowledge, once known. Like life, it will out. You couldn’t not think about the information that Mag found so enlightening. There are few real secrets.”
She gestured at the shelves of books all around them. “I know dangerous things. I don’t make it easy for the unqualified to learn them, but nothing can stop a determined scholar with evil intent.”
“So you think I shouldn’t hesitate to let some of the human knowledge seep in, as requested or needed.”
“No more than if it came from a foreign land instead of another world,” she said. “Change will come and not everyone will adapt, but that’s how life works.”
He sat and thought about it for a few minutes, and then he found himself waking up again in his comfortable chair, a lap robe thrown loosely over him and the fire diminished. Ceridwen was still in her seat, and she lifted her eyes from the book in her lap when he stirred.
He rubbed his face. “I am so tired of this constant fading out. When will it stop?”
H
e meant the question rhetorically, but Ceridwen surprised him with the intensity of her response.
“You don’t understand.” She gave him a hard look. “Cernunnos’s healing may have been brutal, but I assure you without it Angharad would be a widow today and your new foster-son would be fatherless again.”
George flinched. She was probably right.
“If you think about it,” she said, “it’s a miracle he did it at all.”
George lifted an eyebrow.
“Hasn’t it occurred to you how dangerous you are? That if you can kill a way, you can likely kill a rock-wight, too?”
He felt the blood drain from his face as she continued.
“Cernunnos probably thought it a good idea to just remove you as a threat to them. Seething Magma’s intervention made him reconsider.”
George was appalled. “I would never… It never crossed my mind,” he whispered.
“I imagine they both know that. But Cernunnos might have insisted on certainty instead. You’re very fortunate that Mag felt she could trust you, and even more fortunate that you made the right choice when Cernunnos tested you.”
She stood up and looked down at him. She seemed to age before his eyes and assume an authority she usually masked. “Once you collapsed Madog’s hidden way after the great hunt and Gwyn realized what you could do, don’t you think he had choices to make, too? What do you think would happen to him and all of us if you killed the Travelers’ Way or any of the other ways around which our settlements and trade are based? How could he stop you?”
He was shaken by this description of Gwyn’s assessment and defended himself. “I never thought of it. Just because I can doesn’t mean I ever would.”
She waved a hand dismissively. “There are many men of power who would eliminate a future threat by destroying a present ally,” she said. “If you want to be an active agent of change, go to the old world and collapse every other way, and watch us descend into bitter and bloody war over what remains. Those are real choices, not a few books.”
She looked down at him sternly. “That’s why Madog was so interested in how you could kill ways. He would have taken Annwn and then used that as a base against the old world, and done just that, or threatened the ways for ransom.”
George was speechless.
“You’re lucky to be alive. If Gwyn weren’t a man of honor, you would surely be gone, family or no. You can’t afford to remain this naive about the power you represent.” She sighed, looking at him, “Sometimes it’s easy to forget just how young you are, just Rhodri’s age.”
He didn’t know how to react. What she’d said put everything in a different light. He replied, quietly, “You’re saying I need to understand the politics and economics of this world, and I don’t—that’s true. I’ve set myself a private life, and you’re telling me I can’t do that. But that’s all I ever aimed to do.”
She relaxed her severity. “Oh, George, I know that, and Gwyn does, too. We truly are your family and friends. But we need your active participation. You can’t be sitting on the sidelines, a threat to all and an aid to none.”
“Alright.” As simply as that, he dismissed his dream of a quiet private life. Nothing she’d said was wrong, and he bowed to her superior argument. “How can I help?”
“Gwyn will have a great deal of planning to do, with Madog’s death and our discovery of the rock-wights. He and I will have to give you an accelerated prince’s training, like Rhys and Rhodri’s, as quickly as possible, since I’m sure you’ll be involved in whatever the next steps will be.”
She beckoned him to stand up and took away the lap robe. “You’re not the first to fall asleep in these chairs,” she said, smiling, as she folded it up.
“Angharad’s going to be looking for you. I’ll walk back with you.”
CHAPTER 36
George heard the noise of a gathering inside before he came to the door of his house with Ceridwen. He glared at her.
She shrugged, “Angharad wanted you out of the way for a while, and we had things to discuss.”
He rolled his eyes, then opened the door and waved Ceridwen in.
“Good, I was beginning to worry.” Angharad greeted him, with the dogs, and Alun took their outer garments. She looked at his face with a bit of apprehension.
George made himself join in with the spirit of the occasion. “Ceridwen gave me something and then followed it up with a pretty good talking to which I think maybe I needed. I’ll tell you all about it, later.”
Angharad gave Ceridwen an unreadable look, then brought him over to the tree, still standing handsome but rather bare in the hall. “I invited a few people over to finish decorating this tree. I’ll need your help to reach all the spots.”
George was surprised to see rope garlands of evergreen boughs around the banister. “Where did all this come from?”
“Oh, Rhian and Brynach have been busy.” She pointed to the fireplace mantel in the study, where holly cuttings surrounded a brightly painted carving he couldn’t quite make out from the hall.
He was distracted by the people spilling out of his study into the hall. Rhian and Brynach were there, grinning, and Benitoe and Ives, even Gwyn, on the edge of the crowd. He must have returned just today, George thought. He nodded to him thoughtfully, thinking of Ceridwen’s words.
Alun had provided drinks and food for everyone while he’d been napping in front of Ceridwen’s fire. Looks like the party started just fine without me, he thought.
Angharad showed him the few ornaments she’d added to the tree before she left for Edgewood. He admired them sincerely—they were clever or witty, or just miniature works of art. Each was made of wood and most were painted.
“Gwyn gave me the idea for some of them. He described this sort of tree in your world.” She nodded at Gwyn who was standing quietly next to his foster-daughter, a drink in his hand.
“But I thought it looked rather empty,” she continued. “I wanted to make something for each day since you brought the tree into the house.” She reached into a bag she’d left on the staircase and handed him a decoration. “Think you can find a spot for this?”
He held a palm sized version of his own oak tree, in a wooden silhouette. This was the sign he’d adopted for his family, after choosing to leave the human world. He smiled to see it. He hung it high on the tree, so it could shelter the ornaments below.
He turned and held out his hand for the next one. She gave him the toy wolf that Mag had used to indicate Maelgwn. He looked for the boy and called him over. Angharad told him, “Did you know this is how Cloudie’s mother referred to you? ‘Wolf cub,’ we called you, before we knew your name.”
George gave him the toy, to which Angharad had added a ribbon. “Go hang it somewhere where we can see it every day.”
Maelgwn proudly tied it on the tree, then went and stood by his foster-father.
“This one was my symbol,” she said, and gave George a small magnifying glass on a ribbon to hang. “I tried to find yours, but it was gone.”
Gwyn stepped forward and gave him something wrapped in a sky-blue cloth. “That’s because I already had it. I took it before you had the chance.” George unwrapped the cloth and found a silver miniature version of the dog collar Mag had used.
This unexpectedly hit him, like having his human grandparents there. He thanked Gwyn, his voice choking a little. He remembered his grandfather Talbot talking about an old king who’d called one of his ancestors, “Talbot, our good dog.” It was like an echo out of history.
Angharad’s hand dove into the bag again and came out with something that tinkled. “Mag had another symbol for my family, but I wanted to add my own to it.” She gave him a little wooden cradle, with a bell inside. He almost dropped it, then hung it under his oak tree, for protection. Those who hadn’t heard the news yet congratulated them.
She blandly handed him the next ornament, a pair of sleeping fawns. Maelgwn burst out laughing, and after a moment she joined him, while G
eorge somewhat sheepishly found a place to hang it. Every family accumulates private jokes, he thought. This is one of ours. He refused to explain it to his guests.
Next was a vibrant carving, the miniature head of an antlered red deer. This time he did glare at her but she shrugged it off, and he hung it for her in a place of honor.
“Maelgwn has something for you,” she said.
The boy flushed, but he went into the study and returned with a small cloth-wrapped bundle which he put into George’s hands.
George unfolded the cloth carefully. It was a gaily painted silhouette of a dragon, quite recognizable. He looked more closely. Someone had painstakingly taken the toy black hat that George had given Mag to use as a symbol for Madog, and tied it onto the dragon’s head. George’s last memory of that hat had been Mag putting it into his hand while he sat blind and dying, ridden by Cernunnos. He’d crushed it in his hand at the confirmation of Madog’s death. He glanced from the dragon to Maelgwn.
“I made that,” the boy said, somewhat unnecessarily, George thought.
“Where did you find the hat?”
“You dropped it,” he said. “I wanted to make sure you knew this was Madog, not Cloudie’s mom.”
My deadly enemy, no, our enemy, reduced to a boy’s colorful ornament, he thought. He approved. “Let’s hang this one together.”
They placed it as high as Maelgwn could reach.
Alun stepped up shyly then, with a bag of painted wooden birds, in several sizes. George remembered his hobby of making birdhouses and other items. He thanked him and waved him at the tree to start tying them into place. They brought the tree to life.
“I don’t understand how all of you found the time to do this,” he said. Angharad and Alun shared the smile of conspirators.
Ives had been watching quietly all this while, comfortable in the crowd. He came forward now with a dog made of bound straw tied in places with red cord. It reminded George of the straw horses they made in Sweden. “From the hounds,” he said.
“Be sure to thank them for me,” George said dryly, and Ives grinned.
